


Does Agent Work Count Towards My GED?

by oneawkwardsilence (microphoneMessiah)



Series: They've Given You a Number and Taken Away Your Name [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Badass SHIELD Agents, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:23:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/microphoneMessiah/pseuds/oneawkwardsilence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick likes playing with electrical wiring and programming, which accidentally lands him in the S.H.I.E.L.D program. Pete really doesn't make the transition from class room to sector office any easier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Does Agent Work Count Towards My GED?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thepokeyhokey](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thepokeyhokey).



> set in an AU where Patrick goes to college instead of starting a band and Pete is a respected professional in his field. crazy, i know.
> 
> i really liked the idea for this one but i had no clue if i was ever going to finish it, so i'm posting it up in hopes i don't forget about it again.

Patrick enters in the code, fingers easily sliding over the keys in the number-pad before there’s a quiet beep. Another beep and a hand scanner emerges from a space in the wall in front of him, waiting to prick his hand. (It kind of hurts, but he figures that’s usual for new guys; he’d only been working there a few weeks now. Though, today is his first day in a new sector and actually doing work that wasn’t training.) One more beep and a laser, green that covers the entirety of his face, scans the last details of his identity. The whole process takes less than a minute, tops, but it’s still so odd to him. There were security checks all throughout the building, so why would the offices need them?

He was going to sit at a desk for six hours, not propel into a Russian warehouse,  _Christ_.

A few gripes aside, this was turning out to be a sweet job so far. They had taken him on after, what he guesses, was an undercover agent happened to stumble across his site, Soul Punk. He generally just used Soul Punk to sell little technological devices and toys to make extra money as he was finishing up his last year at college: dolls, electronic instruments, and whatever else he felt like tinkering with. What had got him noticed though, were none of those. No, they hired him for his animatronics.

Which, he’s always been kind of insanely proud of. A few had been shipped around the world and he had Disney as a previous buyer for his sales list. But, he never actually expected to get picked up by S.H.I.E.L.D.; not in his wildest dreams.

Patrick was not a genius, he just liked playing with wires.

So, now, to be sitting in what was possibly the nicest cubicle he’d ever been in, _holy smokes_ ; he was kind of overwhelmed. Like, really overwhelmed and nauseous with his stomach doing flips and his heart beating a hundred times a minute. What if he fucked up? What if he fucked up so bad that the entire, you know, Earth was destroyed?

How was he supposed to help save the world?

He looked down at his feet, breath becoming more stunted as he pictured the Earth breaking into a million pieces like a cartoon explosion. God, he couldn’t even match his socks. (One went up to his mid-calf and the other clung to his ankles.)

He was…he…

_Patrick was going to throw up._

His hands gripped the wall and he prepared to make a dash for it, even though he had basically no idea where the restroom was. Nope.  _Nopenopenopenopenope._  Maybe he could get out of the program without them neuralizing him with a red laser or making him a part of the witness protection program. He could just call a superior or something and say right then and there that he had changed his mind. Then, he could go back to being a poor college kid with more pieces of metal than a chop shop; it’d be so easy.

Right. He’d do that right after he emptied the contents of his stomach. But, just as he turned to look towards the hallway he’d noticed off to the right, he caught sight of jet black hair. Attached to the hair was a tan face and giant, too white smile.

"You’re the new guy?" Smile Guy asks, eyeing him curiously. He seems nice enough, walking forward and outstretching his hand as way of welcome.

Patrick doesn’t really notice that though; smile guy is kinda hot? “Y-yeah,” he clears his throat. His face feels like it’s burning and he’s praying to every deity in existence that it’s not as red as he thinks it probably is. “Agent Stump.” He shakes Smile Guy’s hand, feeling warmth transfer between their fingers.

"Pete!" The guy—Pete offers in response before snapping his fingers. "Oh, wait. I mean, Agent Wentz. Pete Wentz." He says it in a Bond accent, tossing in a cheesy wink that makes Patrick laugh and his previous nerves start to fizzle away.

It’s quiet for a moment after that as Pete stares at him, still grinning ear to ear. He looks thoughtful, eyes not quite meeting his for more than a second at a time before he realizes they’re still holding hands and let’s go.

He coughs before rubbing his hands in his hair, smile less stretched. “Sorry. There just hasn’t been any new guys in this section in forever. I promise I’m not normally really this bad.”

Patrick shrugs. “I thought it was witty,” he offers Pete a small smile of his own. “I’m Patrick, by the way. Agent Stump. Patrick Stump.” Mimicking Pete from earlier, to which Pete responds by sticking his tongue out.

"Very rude to tease your superiors, Agent Stump," he huffs. "Especially on your first day in this sector."

"Superior?"

"I’m in charge of Sector 9A, yeah."

Patrick’s face goes pale.


End file.
